Sweet Dreams And A Beautiful Nightmare
by MyLittleStorys
Summary: Three short tales based around sleep...And now I have more! Some swears just to warn you.
1. Pranks, dodgy dreams, and sleeping ghost

**Heyo! Hope you all had a good Easter. Here are three wee fics I had a random notion to write. Should really get cracking with those other fics I've to finish...I own nothing but this story. Enjoy!**

In the quest for a refreshing cup of tea, Mitchell rolled off his bed, descending the stairs, encountering a curious scene. Annie was crouched over George, currently sprawled across the couch in a drunken slumber, snoring loudly, surrounded in a blanket of empty crisp packets and not-so-classy gossip magazines.

A lopsided grin played on Mitchells face, before he pulled a serious demeanour, planning to tease Annie, "Annie, what are you doing?".

Annie stood up quickly, hands behind her back, all innocent and doe eyed, looking everywhere but Mitchell. She chirped, "Nothing", guilty as a child caught stealing some sweets.

Mitchell took a step closer to inspect the scene, discovering Annie had drawn all over George's face in variety of coloured pens.

Stifling back a laugh, Mitchell leaned against the wall, "George is going to kill you, you do know that".

Annie bit her lip, flashing an innocent, 'who me?' look, before rolling her eyes, "I thought you'd be the in here first. Considering what he did to you".

Brief realisation hit Mitchell and it took a millisecond for George's fate to be decided. He did not think back fondly to waking up after a particularly heavy night at the pub. A previous incident involving glue, lot's of glitter and many sparkling twilight references from George.

Mitchell pried the pen from Annie's hand and gently pushed her out of the way, "If we're doing this, at least do it properly".

An hour later, Mitchell and Annie swiped their laughter tears as a high pitch scream rang from upstairs, announcing the sleeping beauty had glanced into a mirror. The words "permanent" formed and Annie and Mitchell shared a guilty glance before Mitchell grabbed his jacket, running out the house, while Annie vanished out of sight.

Probably best to leave George to settle for a little while.

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Not that he was complaining, but this was not how Mitchell imagined spending his Thursday evening; memorised by a seductive mess of scratching nails on his skin, hands exploring all the right places, a mixture of soft and hard kisses pressing everywhere but his lips, tracing cool tingles down his spine.

He was enticed by the gentle sway of her hips to a silent beat, dancing in rhythm only for him, struggling to hold back the quiet moan of pleasure threatening to break free. It was rare for a woman to have such a hold over him, heart pounding, touches like little luxuries; he didn't want it to stop and never wanted to return to the real world.

It was the most exciting roller coaster ride, and she had yet to remove her clothes. The glint of a bare shoulder was enough to send Mitchell over the edge.

A mesh of giggles, curls and grey had Mitchell drunk on pleasure, sending him to the magical place that is half dreamy and half awake.

His sultry angel straddled his hips, slowly licking his ear lobe teasingly, before leaning back holding a silk black tie.

"And what are you going to do with that Annie…"

The clanging thud of cutlery woke Mitchell from his dream with a start; George mouth open, ketchup smudged in the corner of his mouth, eyebrows impossibly high, and Annie blushing like mad, averting her gaze.

Mitchell coughed, shifting on the leather couch, hoping to swiftly move the awkwardness along, "Um, what's on TV then".

Yeah this wasn't going to be weird at all then.

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George opened the front door of the little pink house, knackered from his shift at the hospital, noticing Mitchell leaning against the hallway wall; arms crossed staring dreamily into the living room.

George had yet to even open his mouth with a greeting before Mitchell shushed him, flapping his hand like an old biddy, "Shhh, Annie's asleep! Look! She snores and everything".

George tip toed beside Mitchell, following his gaze to a sleeping Annie curled up on the couch.

Glancing to his watch and worryingly, the gushy look in Mitchell's eye, George couldn't help but snort, "Oh my God god, look at you, you've gone all soft".

Mitchell sniffed, "I have not!".

George stuttered, eyes wide, "Yeah, you so have. It's like when I found you crying over Little Women the other day".

Mitchell pointed a finger, "Hey! That film is a classic".

The guys continued to watch her, for a few minutes before George checked his watch again, "Should I wake her? I'm a bit peckish now".

Mitchell shot George a look, "No, did no one ever tell you never wake a sleeping woman".

George looked incredulous, "You're just making that up. Plus, the Real Hustle is on in…2 minutes".

Mitchell held his hands in the air, a sign of defeat and retreated into the kitchen, "Don't say I didn't warn you George!".

George made a face and slowly crept over to Annie, nudging her.

Mitchell chuckled as he heard Annie scream, first in shock, and then in annoyance, hitting George while he stuttered rather odd explanations and apologies for his actions.

This was their home.


	2. Don't Jump To Conclusions

**Heyo! It's nearly time for S3E8 (sob) so I figure we need a wee cheering up before the emtional wreck of The wolf-shaped bullet gets us! Hope you enjoy! **

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**The trio are still in Bristol in this one...**

Any day off work is a blessing. A Saturday off work is a miracle; one that Mitchell planned to spend happily in bed before heading to the pub in a bid to avoid The X Factor. That was the plan. Of course, the powers that be – or in this case his housemates – were keen to make sure this would not be the case.

Not even burying his head within pillows could deafen whatever was happening downstairs. What the hell were they doing anyway?

He rolled onto his back, groaning in annoyance. That was it. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he peeled back the bed covers and groggily stumbled from the bedroom, still clad in clothes from the previous day. He could no longer ignore the grunts and banging downstairs.

"What are you doing? Clearly, that doesn't fit there! Why would it go there?" screeched through the house: a high pitch tone of disbelief that could only belong to one George Sands.

"Well sorry if I'm a little rusty, I haven't done this since the day I died!" replied Annie followed immediately by the sound of wood scraping against wood.

"You were doing this the day you died?" asked George incredulously.

"I didn't think I'd die that day did I? It's a rule isn't it, you know, to christen the house" answered Annie, as though the matter was common knowledge.

"Yeah, I suppose it is. Uh, why didn't you ask Mitchell, isn't he, more experienced?" grunted George.

"Obviously, he would be my first choice, no offence, but he's having a mood…someone shrank his skinny jeans" sighed Annie.

"Again? Honestly, I don't know how many times I have to explain it to him! Cold wash. Cold. Wash. It's not that difficult!" huffed George.

Mitchell hovered on the staircase. On the one hand, he could be walking into a horrific sexual encounter between his best friends, tainting the living room and his vision. On the other, he was becoming unexplainably annoyed Annie did not ask him for whatever reason. He chose to ignore the skinny jeans comment for the time being.

Jesus Christ. He was a hundred odd year old vampire, for Pete's sake. Pull yourself together man.

He took a deep breath, straightened his dishevelled check shirt and entered the awaiting scene.

George noticed him first, face red and clutching a scrunched instruction manual, "Finally up then? Maybe you can tell Annie that buying this Ikea table was a stupid idea".

Relieved, Mitchell gazed around the bombshell that was their living room.

Annie smiled innocently, ignoring George's glares.

Pointing an accusing finger at George, Mitchell told him, "You went to Ikea, deal with the consequences", before heading to the kitchen for some well needed coffee.

...


	3. A Satisfying Frustration

**Now we're in S3**

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**"Annie, just chill will you!" sighed Mitchell, sitting on the edge of his bed, hair askew, shirt long gone.

His eyes followed Annie as she paced back and forth, scrunching her face and growling at herself in annoyance. That growl was not helping matters, Mitchell thought to himself.

"Chill! Do you have any idea how frustrating this is?" said Annie, stopping mid pace; tugging at her cardigan like it was an enemy.

"If I had known I'd be stuck in these clothes for eternity…well…I would have bloody prepared…maybe worn a nice dress. And grey? I _never _wear grey" grumbled Annie. She wasn't upset, she was annoyed and a woman on a mission.

Mitchell couldn't care less what Annie wore, it didn't matter, cause God she was beautiful. Of course he, admittedly, imagined her wearing different outfits, usually something he could tear off. However, nothing got his heart beating madly than that grey. The way it hugged her figure like a second skin…

Shit, she was calling his name, perfect eyebrows raised with a questioning expression. He snapped out of his growing, lustful thoughts and grabbed her waist.

"Annie, it's like I said, I don't want anything else but you" stated Mitchell, his tone conveying every little bit of love he had for the woman before him. "I want this to be pure and…"

Annie interrupted him, making a pfht noise, "Pure?"

She leaned forward, lips dangerously close to his own before moving to his ear, her voice unusually husky, "Maybe I don't want to be pure, maybe I'm tired of being the good girl and just once…"

She pulled back and huffed in frustration, returning to her pacing.

Mitchell swallowed hard, her cold breath and soft curls tickling his neck was enough to send him over the edge. Through his heavy gaze he noticed the change.

"Annie…"

She ignored him with a casual flick of her hand.

"Annie!"

Finally she looked up, unimpressed, "What?"

Mitchell, wide eyed in both shock and admiration, eyed her up in down, unable to form any words.

Realisation slowly reached Annie as she gasped in surprise, discovering her prayers had been answered and her grey clothing was gone. She looked up slowly, a sly, satisfied grin etching her face and gave Mitchell a cheeky wink.

To say Mitchell was gob smacked was an understatement. His jaw hung slack as he processed every inch of her exposed skin to memory. He stammered and spluttered…oh god, he'd turned into George.

At that moment, the bedroom door swung open without warning as though George had sensed his inappropriate presence was required.

"Mitchell, have you seen my…"

George ended his question with a horrified shrill, covering his eyes before Annie rent-a-ghosted the hell out of there. A shocked gasp from Nina could be heard downstairs.

Mitchell wasn't sure whose scream was louder, but George might have bet Annie to the mark. He waited for George to recover with some pitchy 'oh gods' before throwing him a 'you will pay later for this' glare.

"I'm going to leave now and gouge my eyes out with a spoon" stammered George, slowly backing out of the room.

"Yeah, you do that" replied Mitchell sarcastically.

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**Yeah! Thanks for reading x**


	4. Eurovision

**_Pretty sure I was past tipsy when I came up with this. It's very short and stupid. :D_**

Mitchell fumbled for his keys as he approached the front door of the pink converted pub. He hissed a curse when the key stuck in the lock, palms feeling clammy.

It was stupid, this whole thing was stupid. Why should he feel nervous? He hadn't done anything for Christ's sake.

Saturday nights were for hitting the pubs, having a laugh – not watching this annual cack on the TV.

The nurses on nightshift had provided the heads up. He tried his best to ignore their glares as he finished his shift. Even his normally charming smile did not falter them.

He was tired after a long day and here he stood on the threshold of a potential battlefield. He planted his biggest innocent smile he could muster and opened the door, preparing for his housemates reactions.

Annie and George sat icily on the couch, turning to face him in unison. His smile faltered under their scrutiny.

"Eight points? Really?" said Annie, giving Mitchell her best scolding.

"And to think we gave you twelve", added George, sniffing in dissatisfaction.

Mitchell stood still, blinked, muttered 'fuck sake' and retreated to the kitchen for a beer, vowing to himself that he would not let his friends watch _that _show again.

God, he hated the Eurovision Contest.

Ultimately, he hated Jedward.


End file.
